


wizard's flu

by bluehasnoclues



Series: harry potter oneshots [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Neglect, Fluff, Harry is a Little Shit, Harry lives with Snape for some undisclosed reason, Hurt/Comfort, Sarcasm, Sassy Harry Potter, Self-Indulgent, Severitus, Sick Harry, Snape Assigns... A Lot Of Essays, Sort of? - Freeform, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 02:07:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17295665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluehasnoclues/pseuds/bluehasnoclues
Summary: Harry gets sick. Severus isn't quite sure how to deal with it. (Minerva disapproves when he's himself, apparently.)





	wizard's flu

_“Potter,”_ Severus growled dangerously as he entered the boy’s rooms. If he had wanted privacy it was now forfeit. “I distinctly remember telling you that you were to be out of bed at _seven_ at the _latest_.”

Potter woke with a violent movement, sitting up forcefully and wiping both hands across his eyes. “What time is —”

“ _Eight_. If you expect me to still provide your lessons, you are mistaken.”

Potter frowned and stumbled out of his bed, knees and elbows clashing with his clumsy movements. “Sorry, sir, I —”

“ _I_ have no interest in hearing excuses,” Severus said, lip curled. “In lieu of your lessons, I expect twelve inches on the properties of aconite and another six on the importance of time-keeping. You have until the end of the day.”

Potter, surprisingly, did not argue, instead choosing to give a slow and tired nod. Severus took that moment to sweep out of his rooms. _Perhaps the boy will learn something._

//

Potter was suspiciously silent for the rest of the day. He did not come out for lunch — sulking, like the insolent child he was.

He did come out for supper, carrying a carefully-rolled piece of parchment. “Sir,” he murmured, walking to where Severus was sitting down ready to dine, “my essay.”

He handed the parchment over. Severus took it with a curled lip, unfilled and pretended to read over it, before tossing it into the fireplace.

“Pitiful,” Severus sneered over the crackling of burning parchment. Potter turned his gaze to the ground, but otherwise showed no reaction.

“I don't know why I'm surprised,” Severus continued, his voice as cutting as it could be, “you only had the entire day, of course, during which you were doing nothing —”

“I'm sorry, sir,” Potter said quietly.

“ _Do not interrupt me,”_ Severus snarled. “Now _sit down._ ”

Potter sat. Food appeared in front of them both, and Severus felt himself calming slightly as the rich aromas reached him.

“Eat,” said Severus, “unless that is _also_ above you?”

“Thank you, sir,” Potter murmured, holding his fork lightly.

Throughout their meal, Severus noted that Potter was pushing his food around more than anything else. “Still… _pouting?_ ” Severus asked cuttingly.

“No — sir,” Potter said, hesitant for whatever half-baked reason the boy had come up with this time. “I just — don't feel well.”

“Well, far be it from me to force practical lessons on you while your _tummy aches._ I expect the same essay, re-done to where it resembles at least a slight bit of competence. Tomorrow morning.”

Potter looked like he was suppressing a sigh, and Severus felt the sharp sting of vindictive pleasure wash over him.

//

The next morning, Severus took the _precious_ time out of his day to actually read Potter’s newest essay. This time it was him suppressing the sigh.

“ _Potter,_ ” he said dangerously. “What _is this?_ ”

“Wait, you’re reading it?” Potter said, having the impertinence to sound surprised.

“Do you think I _don’t_?”

“Uh, well… yes.” Potter’s tone was an impressive mix of painfully unmannered and courteously deferential.

“And so you deemed it prudent to write this — drivel? ‘ _Wolfsbane, while technically toxic to the system, pairs wonderfully with banana-flavoured biscuits. Unfortunately, if one has a genetic predisposition to heart disease, exposing the flower to heat (as is necessary when baking biscuits) will cause the cytotoxicity within the petals to increase exponentially and prompt a similar effect to the heart as hydrofluoric acid does to unprotected skin. If one is ready and willing to accept the risks, and the certain chance of death, then the author humbly recommends a cup of Russian Caravan tea to go with the delightful treat. The decadent mix of oolong, keemun, and lapsang souchong teas are all produced from the Chinese tea plant_ camellia sinensis, _traditionally reserved for emperors, as the nulling qualities should dampen the negative effects of the wolfsbane for the time it takes to finish one’s banana biscuit. Regrettably, no one has lived long enough to prove the results, so one should take care to chew very quickly’_.”

“I didn’t think you would _read_ it,” Potter muttered.

“This — this is —” _Hilarious_ , Severus’ brain suggested, _and fantastically accurate. The depth of theory alone..._ He ignored his brain. “ _Completely foolish_ ,” he finished. “You’ve written an _entire recipe for “Banana Aconiscuits._ ”

“Sorry, sir,” Potter said, eyes cast toward the floor, “I just thought, since you didn’t read the last one —”

“What makes you believe I didn’t read it? Yes, your writing is rather painful in its ineptitude —”

“Half of it was in German,” Potter said dryly.

“And you’re the _only_ _person_ who knows the language, I assume.” Severus wasn’t bluffing. He had been multilingual from a young age.

Potter gave a small smile, gaze still pointed towards the floor. “Actually, I don’t speak a lick of German, which you might know if you had read my essay, which was actually part Spanish.”

“Get out,” barked Severus, something igniting behind his chest. “Fourteen inches on the use of werewolf blood in strengthening potions by tonight.”

Potter left the table with a nod, and it wasn’t until Severus heard the door shut quietly that he realized the boy hadn’t taken even a bite of his breakfast.

//

Potter skipped lunch. Severus was irritated. If the boy passed out, it would reflect badly on _him_ , and he did _not_ need that sort of negative attention. His reputation was carefully cultivated; if one of his Snakes thought him _starving_ the boy, he would lose a great deal of respect within his House.

He loaded the boy’s plate himself at supper, barking out a sharp “ _eat, Potter_ ” before unrolling the newest essay casually handed to him.

 _Due to their propensity toward red meat, werewolves have excess levels of iron in their bloodstream…_ Yes, Severus thought, this ought to be interesting.

//

Thirteen-and-a-half inches later, Severus had resorted to shoving his amusement behind years’-worth of Occlumency walls.

 _In conclusion,_ Potter had written, _there is only one proven way to use werewolves in benefiting one’s health routine; any individual might politely ask to use the creature’s body as a potion ingredient, for running in fear of one’s life tends to be a very effective exercise regimen._

Severus quite honestly hadn’t expected Potter to be able to write fourteen inches on a one-sentence answer. And in only a few hours, no less. It was, dare he say it, impressive.

Much _less_ impressive was that the boy had only eaten a few bites.

“I _really_ don’t feel well, professor,” Potter said when Severus ordered him to continue. “It’s best if I —”

Under Severus’ glare, the boy slowly finished his plate, and the older man was somewhat satisfied. _Extremely_ satisfied as he had the chance to berate Potter for his ‘vacuous and impertinent’ essay.

Well, satisfied until at three in the morning, he was having to listen to Potter vomit into the toilet.

//

The _irritating_ boy had a fever in the morning.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Potter insisted, not seeming to realize that he was swaying where he stood. Severus recognized the symptoms; the boy had somehow managed to contract Wizard’s Flu, which meant he couldn’t be around magic for at least three days in order for the sickness to work its way out of his body.

So, oddly entertained but still giving ruthless criticism, Severus assigned more essays. _Powdered_ versus _crushed_ _;_ the thoughtlessness of pure-gold cauldrons; the importance of a single shade difference; why the color of a newt’s eyes affected the potion; each essay was increasingly difficult and each subject more obscure than the last.

Severus was somewhat disappointed to learn that the Potter’s sarcasm did not hold. He had no flaws in his grammar, and his information was all accurate and properly sourced, but his essays slowly began to read more like a textbook than _the Granger girl's_ did. Perhaps it was the effect of several days confined to a small, dark room.

Not that Severus _cared_. That was more preposterous than even Potter’s self-titled “Banana Aconiscuits”.

 _Or perhaps_ , Severus’ brain chimed in unhelpfully, _he’s stopped because you’ve told him to._

But it wasn’t as if Potter would _listen_ to him, so Severus disregarded that theory immediately. The boy simply had more time on his hands, which meant more to research and less to snark.

Severus didn’t bother himself with the thought again.

//

“And how is Harry?” Minerva asked. Severus was sitting in the Great Hall, surrounded by noise and students and _what is that terrible smell_.

“Wizard’s Flu,” Severus replied absentmindedly, focusing more on his coffee than anything.

“You left him alone? Sick?” Minerva had the gall to sound disapproving.

“He’s not an incompetent child,” Severus snapped. “I refuse to _coddle_ him and further inflate his abnormally large head.”

“With the _Wizard’s Flu_. You and I both know how debilitating that can be.”

“Yes, I do believe that’s what I said.”

“And you're well aware of how quickly a decent state can change,” Minerva said through pursed lips and a pinched expression.

“Yes, and Potter would be whinging very loudly if that was the case.”

Minerva looked and sounded both sad and concerned. “You don’t know him at all, do you?”

//

“Potter,” Severus growled as he burst into the boy’s rooms. He was laying haphazardly over the sheets, half-dressed and face covered with a sheen of sweat, the smell of sick heavy in the air.

“Yessir,” Potter slurred, stumbling out of his bed. He wavered and had to rest his hand on the mattress to regain his balance, but quickly managed to stand up straight and collect himself. Standing there, on the surface, Potter looked surprisingly healthy.

Severus wasn’t so much of an idiot anymore.

Now that he was looking, he saw how the boy’s hands shook. His feet were planted in a position meant to stabilize him and his knees were locked into place, keeping his head high through sheer force of will alone. It was an _almost_ admirable effort.

“Idiot child,” Snape said lowly, eyes dark and furious.

“Hm?” Potter hummed curiously before blinking and shaking his head slightly, as if to re-orient himself. “Sorry, sir.”

“Oh, do tell what you’re apologizing for.”

“Uh, whatever I did?” Potter asked. He sounded genuine. Severus felt his lip curl.

“You are _irresponsible_ , Potter, _lazing_ about in your room, letting your body _fester_.”

“Sorry,” the boy said again, though he still sounded confused. “Er, did I miss a practical lesson? I didn’t mean to ‘laze’, or, or — that, um, but I can get right to it?” He moved forward, as if actually intending to _work_ in his condition. Severus felt slightly gratified but equally disturbed; gratified that this was his reputation, the idea that he could intimidate a student into learning in _his_ state, and disturbed at the notion that it wasn’t seen as out of character for him to _force a student into a lesson in his state._

“ _Potter_ ,” Severus sneered, “as if I could expect you to do anything in your current condition.”

The boy looked almost offended. “No, I’m fine, I can — I can — do… stuff,” he finished lamely, shoving his hands into his pockets, presumably to hide their shaking. “I — I’m used to — I’m _fine,_ just —”

“You can’t speak in full sentences.”

“ _No_ ,” Potter said forcefully, lifting his head up a little higher. “I… apologize, professor, if I gave the impression that I can’t be responsible.” Each word was carefully measured, as if he was fighting against stuttering _and_ vomit. Why was he even still standing? Severus had already given him an out; he wouldn’t ask the boy to do any of his normal work when he was obviously barely hanging onto consciousness.

“I’ll…” Potter continued. Merlin, the boy truly didn’t know when to quit. “I’ll do double, or whatever you ask, but please,” his voice cracked slightly, “don’t tell Dumbledore that I… slacked?”

Why was the boy worried about _Albus_ , of all people? The old coot _loved_ his precious Saviour. And to offer to do whatever Severus wished? He had half a mind to take advantage… there were an awful lot of cauldrons not yet washed…

But no, he wasn’t cruel. Or perhaps he was, for even giving the thought honest consideration, but that didn’t matter at the moment, because Potter was swaying dangerously, even as he leaned on the side of his bed as support.

“Imbecilic boy,” Severus hissed as he moved to Potter’s side and carefully helped guide him back onto the bed. “Your stupidity _truly_ knows no bounds. Your father would be impressed —”

“Please,” the boy slurred. “Not — not right now. Later? Later, stupid. Now — sorry, uh, work later too — sleep.”

Potter promptly passed out.

It was official. Severus well and truly hated his life.

//

Severus, several hours later, briefly wondered if he was under the Imperious Curse. There was no other _possible_ explanation as to why he was gently shaking Potter awake, a bowl of steaming broth in his hand and a cool towel draped over the chair in the corner.

Or perhaps it was a sign of old age, because no one could catch him unawares long enough to _cast_ Imperio.

Potter groaned as he shifted, his eloquent and well-spoken nature showing itself once again. “Nghhhhhhhhhh. _Fuuuuuuuuuuu_ —” He looked up. “ _Fudge_. Tha’s what I was about t’ say. Fudge. ‘Cause… uh, all innocen’ an’ light an’ shit. Crap. I mean crap. _Fuuuuck_. I mean — _goddammit._ ”

Severus nearly felt compelled to laugh. “Take this,” he said as softly as he could, which admittedly wasn’t very soft. “Drink.”

“Hm?” Potter hummed before he looked over. His face positively brightened to an almost painful level of joy. “You brough’ me _food_.”

“Broth. Hold it and drink. It’s warm.”

“ _Fooood_ ,” Potter moaned incoherently, his fever no doubt ruling his thoughts. “I — I’ never had _food_ sick before.”

Severus felt his heart stutter, except he didn’t, because that would be ridiculous. “You do now, Potter, so shut up and eat.”

Perhaps…

No. He was just like his father.

**Author's Note:**

> So like... not happy happy ending, but implied happy ending? They'll get there. Eventually. Probably.


End file.
